She responded to them, lingered over them, experienced strange moods from them as from the orchestrated richness of music.
And in doing so she thought of Cowperwood often.

Did he really like these things, or was he just buying them to be buying them?
She had heard much of the pseudo artistic--the people who made a show of art.
She recalled Cowperwood as he walked the deck of the Centurion.

She remembered his large, comprehensive, embracing blue-gray eyes that seemed to blaze with intelligence.

He seemed to her quite obviously a more forceful and significant man than her father, and yet she could not have said why.

He always seemed so trigly dressed, so well put together.